


No Relief Without The Fever

by geckoholic



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Dubious Consent, Hate Sex, Jewelry, M/M, Rough Oral Sex, Under-negotiated Kink, choking on cock, dick-stepping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 10:31:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18636340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: “Lee Yut-Lung,” Shorter says, unmoving, jaw set, eyes narrowed. He refuses to hunker down in fear in front of the insolent baby brother of the men actually in power, no matter how excellent his pedigree. “What else do you want from me?”“There's no need for such defensiveness,” Yut-Lung says. He clicks his tongue, looks Shorter up and down. “I come bearing gifts, this time.”





	No Relief Without The Fever

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the #bfsrarepairweek prompt "jewelry". Thanks to satan for the brainstorming! 
> 
> Not beta'd again because yoooooooooolo, so all remaining mistakes are most definitely mine. 
> 
> Title is from "Deeper" by Valerie Broussard.

Shorter can't sit still. His finger tap a ceaseless rhythm against the wood of the heavy, likely expensive old dresser in his room. He keeps flicking the desk lamp that sits on the dresser surface on and off. His feet keep jolting up and down on their own accord, jarring the creaky old chair he's sitting on. Eiji and Ash and Max and Ibe are down the hall, now, after dinner, discussing and plotting their next steps. Shorter excused himself with a headache; he can't pass on what he doesn't know. Not a ruse he'll be able to keep up, because both Yut-Lung and Ash would find him out pretty quick, but he allowed himself one evening. Just one evening to sort his thoughts and come to terms with the betrayal he's forced to commit. The choice he's been forced to make. The fallout on either side, and the impossibility to pick anyone, even Ash, over the well-being of the sister that raised him.

A knock on the door stops him short. He freezes, gasping out in surprise, feeling caught. “I'm still not feeling well,” he lies. “Talk tomorrow, okay?” 

The person on the other side of the door tsks and pushes the handle down. Not Ash, then, an Shorter can't decide whether that's worse or cause him to exhale in relief. At least he won't have to lie to Yut-Lung and pretend everything's the same as it always, it's okay, he's fine, just a headache, nothing sinister going on here at all. 

Yut-Lung slips into the room, quiet as a ghost, and closes the door behind himself. He's clad in a bathrobe that's slightly too big on him, reaching down to his ankles, swallowing him, making him look small and young and vulnerable. Shorter figures that's intentional, although the guise hasn't been put on for his benefit. The lost little boy act must be meant for the rest of them, trying to convince them he's harmless, worth protecting. He already disabused Shorter of that notion. 

“Lee Yut-Lung,” Shorter says, unmoving, jaw set, eyes narrowed. He refuses to hunker down in fear in front of the insolent baby brother of the men actually in power, no matter how excellent his pedigree. “What else do you want from me?” 

“There's no need for such defensiveness,” Yut-Lung says. He clicks his tongue, looks Shorter up and down. “I come bearing gifts, this time.” 

Shorter snorts and crosses his arms. ”Yeah. Sure.” 

Yut-Lung just sighs, bored, long-suffering, and lets the bathrobe slide off his shoulders. He's naked underneath, save for an intricate piece of body jewelry unlike anything Shorter has ever seen, or thought existed outside of bad scifi movies. Two thin golden chains travel downward from Yut-Lung's pierced nipples and weave around his hips, meeting there with another set that falls from around his neck, to all connect with a half-moon pendent that's hanging from his similarly pierced navel. The nipple rings carry pendants as well, although those are smaller in size, shaped like stars, studded with diamonds that glint ominously in the sparse light of the desk lamp. 

He’s beautiful, there’s no denying that. His body seems thin and delicate, yet offering hints at a carefully cultivated build and hidden strength. His hair is woven into a braid, framing his face. He wears eyeliner and lipstick, though both are subtle, tailored to what he must have figured Shorter would like. Shorter's own silhouette, hindering the light, paints shadows onto Yut-Lung's bare chest. His groin is neatly shaved. As Shorter watches, he reaches down to cup himself, stroke his cock a few times to make it fill out a little. Something in Shorter stirs in turn, his jeans beginning to feel just that tell-tale bit tighter. 

But the Lees don't do anything without an edge, without a hidden price tag. Yut-Lung has an agenda, and that he's willing to use his body to further it makes Shorter's skin prickle with goosebumps. He's unpredictable. Dangerous. A loose canon. 

Sucking in a breath, Shorter rises to his feet and casts a look around for an exit strategy, instinctively, like a cornered animal. Yut-Lung rolls his eyes. “No further strings attached, I promise. This is merely... motivation, if you will. An advance on benefits you'll get to enjoy for a job well done.”

“You wanna be nice?” Shorter spits, nodding towards the door. “Then get the fuck out and leave me alone.“

“Oh but, _Shorter Wong_ ,” Yut Lung trills, throwing the name Shorter chooses to use - too western, in the wrong order - back at him like a nasty insult. “It’s impolite to turn down a gift, especially one that’s so thoughtful and personal.”

“This is not a gift,” Shorter argues. “It’s a bribe and I’m not interested.”

“Is that so?” asks Yut Lung, tilting his head, one neatly plucked brow rising to his hairline, and glances at the undeniable and still growing bulge in Shorter’s jeans. He smirks and touches himself again, nimble fingers dancing on his own hardening cock, fondling it, pulling the foreskin back and thumbing the head until precome pearls from the slit, making a presentation of his arousal. 

Shorter bites his lip. He isn't good enough a liar to pretend that leaves him unaffected. He can't tear his gaze from Yut-Lung's crotch, and the filthy moans Yut-Lung is adding as a soundtrack aren't helping either. Each needy little noise makes a new wave of _want_ ripple down Shorter's spine. He feels trapped, by Yut-Lung, by the Lees, by fate in general, by his own body's reactions to the display in front of him. 

And yet, he's still hard. He's so painfully, embarrassingly hard. 

Yut-Lung takes a step towards him, then another. And Shorter backs down until his ass hits the dresser with a dull thump. He scrambles for purchase, gripping the edge of the dresser with both hands. For some godforsaken reason he doesn't fight when Yut-Lung pulls down his zipper, doesn't resist when he reaches into Shorter's boxers to palm his cock. The touch is reverent, skilled, that of a seasoned whore who has been taught, time and time again, how to make each mark feel like they're the best fuck he ever had. 

He sinks to his knees, one hand around the base of Shorter's cock. He licks his lips, and then his tongue flicks out to take a taste. He hums his approval, looks up to meet Shorter's eyes with a coquettish smile. And then, without further ado, he takes Shorter's entire length to the root in one go, swallowing around him, and Shorter's vision whites out for a few seconds. It's so _good_ and Shorter's nails dig into the wood of the dresser, his head turned away, eyes closed. That attempt at an escape turns out to be a mistake; the lack of visuals makes the wet-hot warmth of Yut-Lungs mouth around him more intense. Nevertheless, he decides it's the better option, not having to see Yut-Lung, head bobbing on Shorter's cock, moaning around him like this is anything more than a stale act, another calculated move.

Yut Lung curls his tongue along the underside, the bundle of nerves there, and Shorter wants to bury his hand in Yut Lung’s hair and pull so hard it makes him scream. He wants to kiss him until they’re both out of breath. He wants to throw him into his back and fuck him raw, fuck him dry, fuck him until it hurts, although he’s rather certain getting his dick wet like _that_ isn't on offer tonight.

The mere thought does its part in stirring Shorter's arousal further, though. And it's not even that he's into that kind of sex, usually, either. Just... Yut-Lung. Shorter wants nothing to do with him, wants to own him, wants to regain the upper hand and put him in his place. Cornered animals will lash out, and violence begets violence; he learned that lesson young. 

He opens his eyes and reaches for Yut-Lung, holding him in place with both hands around his jaw. He fucks into his mouth once, hard, testing whether Yut-Lung will resist, which he doesn't. Instead, his eyes fall closed in a pretense of bliss, and he swallows around Shorter again, moans his name, utters a string of faux-incoherent pleas for more, for Shorter to take him, use him, fill him. He reaches behind himself to rub between his cheeks, one finger crooked like he's fingering his hole. He glances up at Shorter and moans again, needy, shameless, provocative.

And Shorter _takes_ him. He pushes himself off the dresser and steadies himself, rocks up into him to the hilt time and again, making him choke and splutter, his spit dripping from the base of Shorter's cock and down his balls. On a whim, he puts one foot forward so it's lodged between Yut-Lung's legs, then a bit further, the sole of his sneakers pressing up against Yut-Lung's cock. Yut-Lung's erection had been waning since he'd made a show of it – predictably – but he fills up again now, twitching under the rough treatment, and the next moan from Yut-Lung's painted lips sounds surprised, more hesitant, a little less exaggerated. Or maybe he's just changing tack, switching to play at submission, figuring that's what Shorter wants. 

Shorter bears down harder, and Yut-Lung arches, sucking in a breath, not getting particularly far with that since his mouth is still full of cock. His eyes go wide, and Shorter thrusts into his throat again, aiming to steal the last of his air. He lets his hands slide a little lower, from Yut-Lung's jaw to his neck. He pauses for just a second, gauging Yut-Lung's reaction, and then Shorter's hand's close off his airflow altogether. 

Yut-Lung goes quiet – no more moaning, no more whispered filth. His chest heaves with increasingly futile attempts at drawing enough air into his lungs. His fingers are still eagerly at work behind him, fingering himself for real now. He rocks his hips up against Shorter's foot, and Shorter indulges him, pressing down harder, harder, so hard it must have gone from uncomfortable to painful. His eyes start to glaze over, and Shorter allows him a few desperate, utterly inelegant gulps of air before his hands close against Yut-Lung's throat again and he resumes fucking his mouth with sharp, brutal thrusts, chasing nothing but his own pleasure. He doesn't give a warning when he comes, and Yut-Lung squeaks in surprise when Shorter buries himself all the way once more and comes, making him swallow every last bit of his bitter release. 

He steps down hard on Yut-Lung's erection one final time, making him yelp, and then steps away, panting, putting himself away as his head swims with the aftermath of his orgasm and a sudden fear that he crossed a line, that Yut-Lung will make him pay for this short illusion of triumph tenfold. And he might, but right now, he's blinking up at Shorter with an affronted whine and rolls onto his back, legs spread, one hand wrapping around his abused dick, the other venturing further down to finger himself again from this angle. He allows Shorter to watch as he holds himself open, balls drawn up tight to his body, and teases his hole, rubs at the rim, then plunges two fingers inside and pumps them in and out, in and out, making himself cry out in ecstasy. He holds Shorter's eyes as he jerks himself to orgasm, spilling all over his chest and his pretty, shimmering jewelry. He's breathing hard by the end of it, looking absolutely debauched, and Shorter can't tell how much of this last act was actual desperation to come and how much of it was a return to making a show of himself. He doesn't much care; he couldn't be less concerned with Yut-Lung's pleasure or fulfillment, although the thought that he teased some genuine, naked arousal out of someone so used to pretending offers a certain amount of smug satisfaction. 

Then Yut-Lung clears his throat and pushes himself up to a stand, stumbling as he turns to look around for his bathrobe. He picks it up and wraps it around himself, tightly, and there's something vulnerable in the way he holds the fabric closed all the way up on his collarbone, completely covered up. The image softens the cruel edge Shorter has pitched himself onto, and he reaches for the right thing to say; not an apology, not comfort, but affirmation, aimed at the part of Yut-Lung that was just laid bare without his permission. Before he has the chance, though, Yut-Lung whirls around on his heels, the robe billowing around him, and rushes out of the room. 

Shorter pinches the bridge of his nose, suddenly dizzy, and flops back down on that damn creaky desk chair. This has been a mistake. He'll see, later on, what price he'll have to pay for that short moment of feeling superior, of humiliating his new puppet master. He sniffs, then grimaces. He itches all over. He needs to take a shower, wash the stench of sex off his skin. Needs to find away to purge the images from his brain: Yut-Lung on his knees, Yut-Lung with his legs spread, Yut-Lung submitting. 

Yut-Lung as anything other than a dangerous, cunning enemy.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://lostemotion.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/spacenerdz).


End file.
